


Live for Me

by tearsandholdme



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dreams, Grief/Mourning, Illnesses, Love, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Past Character Death, Poison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 20:29:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5554199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tearsandholdme/pseuds/tearsandholdme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You kept me waiting.”</p><p>“So did you,” Derek replied, drinking in the sight of him. Stiles grinned at him in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Live for Me

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know but I hope you enjoy.  
> xo

##### “Besides, the ones that love us never really leave us. You can always find them...here.”

It was an honest mistake. One that Derek never saw coming. I mean, really, he didn't mean to be poisoned by wolfsbane and not by a very rare and unique form of wolfsbane. It didn't feel very nice feeling it coursing through his system but then again the agony of it had him half passed out on the floor. It was only the pack that had dragged him screaming into the vets. Not that it truly belonged to Deaton any more but he was still around and at that moment they needed him. Derek wasn't too aware of anything but the pain. Like fire burning him from the inside out. It never stopped no matter how many times he wriggled around and stretched fighting it. It was trying to kill him and he had half a mind to let it do it but a promise niggled in the back of his mind. It was a special promise, a kind of promise you didn't want to keep but did so out of love. 

“You have to save him!” a voice in the distance cried out, cold clammy hands holding him down as he screamed. Well Derek thought he was. His throat felt raw and the cold hands weren't helping him and neither was the cool sheets he was placed into. Nothing was helping him and he was pretty sure he was crying. 

Derek was also sure he was dying. 

_“You're not dying”_

Derek fought the voice surrounding him and shook his head as he struggled in the darkness. There was a prick of pain in his arm before a flood of cold surrounded him, like being dipped into a cold bath and it hurt to breathe. But in a weird sense it soothed him as well as he drifted into a sleep. 

_“You're going to survive this...”_

It was the last thing he heard before he succumbed to the darkness and he had no idea who said it. Derek was very aware he was hot, boiling hot, the kind of hot you were after a long bath and you were red like a lobster or you spent hours and hours in the sun. Derek was on fire on the outside and inside and he knew he was sleeping when he woke up to darkness. Sweat covered his body and soaked his clothes as he kicked the covers away struggling to breathe. 

Cold hands startled him and his mouth was forced open and a very cold rush of liquid was forced down. Derek spluttered and gagged as he was soothed back to sleep by unknown voices. The darkness welcoming him again as he struggled in vain to sleep. 

_“Fight this, Derek! Fight it!”_

It was the voice again, the same voice screaming in his head and he longed to answer it back. Derek let his eyes close and his head drop as his fever took full hold of him and he passed into the darkness. 

_“You're not going to die. Not yet anyway.”_

Derek wanted to laugh at the voice, tell the voice it was stupid and maybe he should let it kill him. The pain of it was too much but then again, he had felt worse pain. Pain he had locked far into his body that it was unreachable at this moment. The darkness was like waves crashing against the sand, a softness he never knew in a fever like state as he tossed and turned in the darkness. 

Derek had no concept of where he was or what had happened the next time he opened his eyes. He didn't know day or month or year it was but only he was in a hospital like bed in a small room. The room was dimly lit and his eyes burned a little looking at the source of light. His skin was clammy and warm to the touch, sweat dusting his forehead as he turned his head inhaling deeply and paused. 

He blinked slowly taking in the person currently sitting on a chair next to the bed, his hand wrapped into his. Derek stared at their linked hands with a small smile before looking up to look into those big beautiful brown eyes he had missed terribly. That was a strangeness he didn't know what to do with staring at Stiles sat by his bed. Why did he miss him so terribly? He would have seen him recently, right?

“You look like shit,” Stiles said softly. 

“Thanks,” Derek rasped. Stiles noted that and moved his free hand for the water and helped him drink it down till his throat didn't feel so dehydrated. His head settled on the cool pillow again and he looked at him. It felt like years since he had seen him but he was still the same. Still a little broken behind the eyes but those eyes were still filled with such love and care, his smile witty and loving, his soul brighter despite the damage. 

“You're doing good though.”

“Doesn't feel like it,” Derek replied, hand squeezing his. 

“But that's why you're a fighter, Derek, you always have been,” Stiles said amused, smoothing his thumb over the skin of his hand. “Because that's what a fighter does, they fight the good fight and they go home at the end of the day. You're going to fight that poison and you're going to go home.”

Derek had no idea why there was a lump in his throat listening to those words but it was there. He swallowed hard letting him cling to his hand. 

“What if I don't want to?”

“Tough shit,” Stiles snarked back at him so Derek smirked softly in response. Stiles lost the amused edge to him and he watched as he moved from the chair to sit on his bed. 

“I know nothing makes a lot of sense right now and I know how much pain you're in as well. But I need you to listen to me because you're not listening...”

“I am listening, I always listen.”

“Only when I nag you,” Stiles laughed. “How many times did I tell you to pick up your dirty laundry out of the bathroom?”

Derek rolled his eyes at him and Stiles chuckled placing a hand on the side of his cheek. It was cool enough for him to lean into it. 

“You need to fight this, you're not fighting it. You're letting it win. You're letting this poison kill you and they need you. They all need you, Derek, because you're important and so loved. I will not have you let yourself go like this. I won't!”

“Stiles,” Derek rasped, reaching for him. Stiles took both of his hands into his, their fingers linking together so he kissed them and Derek felt every brush of his cool lips. 

“I want you eighty years old, I want you warm in your bed surrounded by pictures of you and the pack and – and a family. I want that.”

“Did you just... quote titanic at me?” Derek whispered confused so Stiles snorted amused and nodded. Derek snorted shutting his eyes and he felt truly exhausted. It was silent between them, not a sound in the room as they held hands and he opened them to see Stiles staring mournfully at their hands. 

“What is it?”

“I have to leave soon. I'm not really supposed to be here,” he murmured, turning his head to look at the door. “But then again, I never truly left.”

Derek blinked at him confused and didn't know what to say or do in response. Stiles turned his head back towards him slowly and smiled a watery smile. 

“Promise me you'll fight this, Derek.”

“Stiles -”

“Derek!”

“I – I promise,” he whispered, a pain settling into his chest, a deep pain he just couldn't understand. The words seemed to appease Stiles who dropped his hands back into his lap. Stiles leaned forward stroking his forehead, long fingers combing through his sweaty hair. 

“Just sleep, sleep is good for you, sleep fights the evil, the sick, the hurt. I know that better than anyone. When you wake up, everything will be different.”

Derek hummed nodding slowly at the caress of his fingers and opened his eyes a final time to see him watching him. 

“Say it.”

Stiles blinked, a mournful look on his face. Derek watched as he leaned forward, hair brushing his cheek as he leaned in and pressed his lips to his ear.

“I love you”

Just those three words were enough to feel like hot molten lava had been poured where his heart should be and he sobbed on his words. Stiles shushed him softly and cools hands soothed him back to sleep.

_“I'll always be here, always watching. I'll be here when it's time.”_

Derek succumbed yet again to the darkness and let it wash over him. This time though the pain didn't feel as bad as he fought against it. Like pushing at a brick wall and finally, finally feeling it give. It was the need for water that woke him the next time and he opened his eyes to find the room in a morning light. The room empty and the chair beside the bed missing as he tried to sit up. His limbs were shaky and the front of his gown was soaked in sweat, blood, and black goo. The door opened and he looked up to see Erica walking towards him. Eyes heavy from stress and lack of sleep.

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” he responded simply. 

“You gave us a right scare!” she cried, shaking her head. “It's been a week, Derek, a week of finding that bitch who drugged you. Finding the cure and all the time you're in agony, screaming your head off, choking on – on blood and black goo. I've never seen Isaac so terrified and he was the one holding you down. Scott couldn't handle it.”

“Why?” Derek murmured leaning against the pillows. 

There was an uncomfortable twitch to her jaw as she sat down slowly on the bed. 

“You were screaming his name, you wouldn't stop. Scott couldn't handle it and he – he left. We kept him updated of course. It was only last night the fever broke.” 

Derek understood who she meant and he swallowed hard flicking his eyes to the chair tucked against the side of the room. Stiles next to him, Stiles holding his hand and soothing him back to sleep. It had been a dream, a fever induced dream. Because he wouldn't be here. Stiles was dead. Stiles had died years ago and it was just him left behind. Of course he screamed for him in his most vulnerable time. 

“So, I'll live?”

“Yes, remarkably,” Erica replied gently. “You fight another day.”

Derek hummed nodding his head once and tilted it to look up at the ceiling. “Just like he wanted.”

Erica didn't comment and he heard her grab his jug of water and refill it before leaving. Derek let his eyes flicker to the window and to the blue sky of a new morning. If he listened closely he could hear the birds tweeting in the distance and he despised the sound. 

“You son of a bitch,” he whispered to no one and he could only hope he was listening. But maybe that was a fool's hope. Derek's eyes drifted close and sleep granted him entry. Thankfully it was dreamless and the next time he woke up it was to Isaac feeding him medicine. Isaac who smiled at him and never said a word as he passed him water and pressed a cool towel to his warm forehead. 

“Couple days rest and you can go home. Deaton's orders. We're werewolves but we're not miracles.”

“I just want my bed.”

“I understand the feeling,” Isaac joked. Derek eyed the faint lines around his eyes and swallowed hard. Isaac had a family of his own, a loving wife, a three year old child and here he was taking care of him. 

“Was I really calling out for him?”

Isaac stiffened at his next question and looked up slowly to meet his eyes and nodded once. “You begged for him and we – we couldn't help. I'm sorry, Derek. 

“Don't apologize.”

“Live for him.”

Derek stiffened at the words and turned his head clenching his jaw. Isaac trailed a hand down his cheek before standing and moving back out of the room. It hurt to breathe as he lay in his bed and even though the wolfsbane had burned out of his system the pain still lingered. He took the advice and had his bed rest but was tired of laying around and pulled on the clothes Isaac had bought for him. It felt good to stand and he took a moment to stare at his reflection. 

Gray at his temples but hair still dark, a few lines around his eyes and a weariness he wore. Weariness from grief and decay and death that had always surrounded him. Derek ducked his head fixing the rest of his jacket and turned heading to the door to get out of there. His car was waiting with the keys still in the ignition and he was thankful for the others giving him the space he needed. It felt good to drive and he drove home, hands clutched tight around the steering wheel with the radio in the background. The house appeared before him and he stared at her for a long moment. The engine ticking over as he sat outside and stared at the bright green door. 

Derek didn't have the heart to repaint the front door. Despite the vile color Stiles had adored. His lips quirked and he sighed deeply emerging out of the car and paused at the door hearing the whimpers and whines of his two huskies. Belle and Shadow howled and wriggled like crazy when he opened the front door.

“It's okay, it's okay, hi, hello,” he greeted, eyes flashing blue at them as he knelt letting them lick and pant at him. “I'm here.” 

Someone had been feeding them and he was grateful for that as he shook off his jacket and ran a hand through his greasy hair. His stubble was thicker than usual and he desperately needed a shower. Derek had no doubt in his mind that he smelled awful. His feet though took him into the living room and he stood staring at the mantel piece. Pictures of himself, the pack, and more importantly Stiles covered it completely. Even the walls had his photos of him laughing, smiling, posing. The more intimate photos upstairs in their bedroom. His eyes burned a little as he remembered his dream, the realistic element of it as he took a seat. The dogs seemed to sense his pain and they set about curling next to him, tongue licking his fingers like they wanted to take his pain away. 

He had been and was beautifully human. But being human had it's downfalls and of course genetics came into it. It had started with forgetfulness, it had started with forgetting names and sleep walking. Naturally they assumed the supernatural yet again was playing tricks but this time there was no trickery, no demon, no witch. Just a simple sickness to the brain that Stiles could not ignore. 

So he begged Scott to turn him and Scott obliged on behalf of Derek for the man he loved. The man he didn't want to see wither away and die in a state of not knowing who he was and where he was. So Scott bit him. 

The bite rejected. 

It was a chance every single bitten human took. It either accepted or it didn't and in this case it didn't. So yet again, he held a dying human in his arms. Stiles' last words begging him to stay, begging him to live, forcing him into a promise. 

“Promise me, promise me you'll live, that you won't abandon them all! Take care of our dogs, look after our pack, live, Derek! For me, live for me,” Stiles had begged him with black on his lips and fear in his eyes. 

“Don't leave me,” he had begged instead.

“Never,” Stiles had promised. His final words being pressed against Derek's ear as he whispered a final I love you and then...nothing. 

Derek opened his eyes to find them wet and swallowed hard. That had been over six years ago. Time was a great healer, brilliant in fact, but it still hurt. You don't move on, you just learn to live without them. That is the hardest thing anyone will ever have to do. 

“Of course you came to me last night, of course you made me live,” Derek murmured with a soft snort of amusement. “Forcing me to keep that promise...you idiot.”

Belle huffed into his thigh and he rubbed the top of her head gently and glanced at the pictures a final time before making his way upstairs for that shower. If Stiles wanted him to live a long life before he died then he was going to keep that promise. 

Which he did. 

Derek despite the bumps in the road, the supernatural creatures out to get him, a few health scares, managed to his surprise to live till he was seventy nine years old. He didn't know exactly when he died but the last thing he remembered was climbing into bed with a heavy deep cough and falling asleep. 

Now though he was stood in the middle of the forest of Beacon Hills his younger self. He stared at his hands and turned at the crack of wood behind him. 

“You kept me waiting.”

“So did you,” Derek replied, drinking in the sight of him. Stiles grinned at him in return. 

“You're not going to send me back are you?”

“No,” Stiles murmured. “End of the line.”

Derek nodded slowly and eyed the hand Stiles offered out to him. He took it and was surprised to find he could feel the warmth and softness. 

“I lived for you, were you satisfied?”

Stiles hummed stepping into his personal space. “So-so, I watched you raise a family of dogs, kiss your pack's children goodnight, hold Isaac's hand when he passed away. I saw you rise and fall and each stumble I knew you'd get back up again. The only downside was I got to watch and not hold your hand.”

“Well, you are now.”

“Oh, yeah,” he murmured with a small smile. “I'm not letting go now.”

“Good,” Derek whispered. The kiss was soft and sweet between them as they stood in the still of the forest exchanging breath they did not need. Light exploded in the distance and Stiles turned towards it with a small soft sigh. 

“Time to go. Last time I was here I refused to go.”

Derek didn't even bother asking why as he stood clutched to his hand and let Stiles lead him towards the ever blinding white light. They stood near the edge when Stiles stopped them and met his eyes.

“What if we walk through there and we're separated?”

Derek contemplated that squeezing his hand gently and moved to cup his cheek. “I lived for a long time without you. With nothing but memories, photographs, and the scent of you still in my skin. Whatever happens next, I think we can endure and besides...even if we are...I'm looking forward to finding you again.”

Stiles smirked pressing a final lingering kiss to his lips and gripped his hand tight as they moved into the bright explosion of light and shattered into a million tiny pieces. Like dust in the air, a child's laughter in an empty house, or even better like falling in love.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:
> 
> Imagine Person B of your OTP is in the hospital. They have a horrible fever, and spend most of their time asleep. In the middle of the night, they wake up to find Person A seated next to them, holding their hand. Person B is over joyed, as they haven’t seen Person A in what feels like forever. Person A helps Person B back to sleep, but by the morning Person B is alone again. Only when their fever breaks do they remember that Person A died years ago, and their return was just a fever dream.


End file.
